The Queen's Lover
by rebeccavis
Summary: Margaery was raised to rule, and to rule happiness often had to be sacrificed. She never expected or believed it was possible to have everything she wanted.
1. Duty & Desire

**A/N:** _I had the idea for and started writing this fic a long time ago, but I kept delaying publishing it because I was originally planning for it to consist of only two chapters. Now I've decided that it will be three or four slightly shorter chapters instead, and I'm hoping it will be better for it. I absolutely adore writing for these two and am looking forward to continuing with this story, but for now here is the first chapter. This is dedicated to my dear friend Rach, without whom shipping Robb and Margaery wouldn't be anywhere near as fun. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always very much appreciated :)_

The Red Keep of the city of King's Landing had been so named because of the colour of the stone it had been built out of, one of the colours of its then ruling house of Targaryen. The king that reigned over the seven kingdoms was now another, and the halls of the castle were decorated with banners of golden stags on fields of green, but Margaery thought it was interesting that through the castle part of the Targaryen legacy would always remain. When she stood on the balcony of her chambers in the evening, gazing out to watch the sun set in the city, all of King's Landing appeared to glow red as fire, red with vibrancy, red with passion. She often wondered how it was that such a place could seem so cold to her.

That night, Margaery had sat down at her dressing table and gone through the very same routine she went through every night. She had removed her crown and loosed her hair, letting it tumble past her shoulders. Her handmaidens had helped her remove her dress, and afterwards bathe her and dab her wrists and her neck with fragrant oil. Finally, she had slipped on her shift, purposefully made too big for her so that it hung loose on her body, disguising every curve. And now, as she did every night, the queen waited. She wore no smallclothes underneath, determined not to slow down in any way a husband who, if he made an appearance at all, could easily change his mind.

Margaery had come to realise there was nothing she could do but be patient. Her king knew as well as she did that he needed an heir and she was the only one who could give him one, so he would come in time. She had already tried many things and given him many suggestions but he had not been interested in any of them, and so all that was left to her was to be patient during the night and be the loving wife of King Renly during the day. Thankfully, it was not so difficult to pretend to adore Renly, especially not when most everyone else seemed to as well. Renly was the people's saviour, who had removed cruel King Joffrey and brought peace and prosperity to the land, and she was the queen whose family had helped him do it. Everyone loved King Renly and she did too, in her own way. It was not the kind of love the songs spoke of, nor did it make her heartbeat quicken and her face flush in his presence, but it was there all the same. He was making someone happy even if it wasn't her and she held no resentment for him, in truth - aside from every now and again when she remembered the one instance where he _had _come to claim his marital rights, drunk out of his wits and smelling like her brother. He had turned her over onto her front that night and taken her maidenhead roughly, painfully, while tears ran down her face and she bit down on her lip so hard she drew blood. She had not made a sound as her husband the king had thrust into her again and again until his seed finally spilled, most of it ending up on her thigh. Renly had then gotten up without a word and walked out of the room, his wife still facing away from him. Since she had never expected to enjoy their encounters, the memory wouldn't be quite so sour to her if it at least it had worked, but that had been several moons ago and her belly was still as flat as ever.

She had discovered lying in bed alone late at night that she did not need Renly or indeed anyone but herself to tend to her pleasures. Her hand slipped between her legs and with her fingers she quickly discovered where to touch to make her want to cry out in ecstasy while her whole body shuddered. She was able to give herself what Renly would never be able to give her, but at the same time she could not help but wonder. She wondered what it would be like to experience those sensations with someone else, and she wondered what it would be like to cause them in him. To begin with her lover had been a faceless shadow, but as of late he had taken on a far more definite form in her mind.

"Lord Robb," she greeted him when their paths crossed one morning on her way out of the Red Keep and into the city of King's Landing. It was a gloomy, miserable day outside, but Margaery had endeavoured to never let such things deter her. She knew how important it was to make her presence felt in the city, no matter what the weather.

"Your Grace," he said in return, giving a small bow of his head. He was his father's son, or so she was often told: always gracious, always respectful, always polite, often stern and even at times a little cold, but whenever he greeted her and lifted his head to meet her gaze again he'd give her a smile that filled her with warmth. She couldn't remember when she had first started wondering if there was anyone else he smiled at in that way.

Robb was the man who had won the war for her king. The smallfolk still spoke of how Renly had valiantly defeated the Lannister troops despite his inexperience in war, but they tended to forget that the person who had actually been responsible was even younger and arguably even more inexperienced. The soldiers who had survived the War of the Five Kings, though, would never forget. Margaery had come to realise that much in the time she'd spent in her husband's camp. Renly might be loved but Robb was respected, especially by the men who he had always fought side by side with, never shying away from the thick of the action. It was the Young Wolf who had made victory possible, and for his efforts Renly had made him Hand of the King. The Baratheon and Stark houses were united once more, Renly liked to say, ruling together as they always should have been. The reality, however, was far from being that simple. Renly and Robb might have been allies, but they were not friends as Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark had once been, and she was positive King Renly's recent actions had only put a further strain on the relationship between the King and his Hand. The stag and the wolf did not rule together: the stag ruled with pleasure, delighting in the never-ending ceremonies and banquets that came with being king, while the wolf ruled seriously and reluctantly, never seeming comfortable in the role he'd been given. Meanwhile, the rose was caught between them, her heart intimate with only one, her body permitted to be intimate with only the other.

The reality of the situation, in truth, was even more complex. The events that had occurred only the day before had the potential to change everything, yet Margaery was already almost certain everything would stay very much the same. She knew her wolf better than a lot of people imagined. He'd had a moment of weakness, it was true, but even then the initiative had been hers, not his. He was his father's son, or so they said. Left to his own devices, his honour would win out in the end, as it always did. That was why she was presently lying in her bed awaiting the unlikely appearance of her husband, not up in the Tower of the Hand where her thoughts were. She was pulled out of her musings by the sound of the door clicking open and she raised her eyebrows in surprise, looking up eagerly. The man she saw standing there, however, was not the man she had expected to see.

"Robb," she breathed. She made to get up, but Robb shook his head, bidding her silently to stay where she was.

She knew her wolf better than a lot of people imagined, and yet it seemed he was still capable of surprising her.


	2. Passion & Permission

_**A/N:** Thank you all so much for your kind words on this fic! I hadn't expected to get much of a reaction at all, but people have been so lovely. I just wish I had more time to write it, but I hope you'll be kind enough to bear with me even when I take a little while to update. Enjoy! Feedback is as ever very much appreciated :)_

Margaery had never quite been able to pinpoint when or how it had happened. She reasoned there had to have been a time after meeting Robb Stark when she had felt absolutely nothing for him, but if there was then she couldn't bring it to mind. Though she had not loved him straight away, he had stirred something in her from the moment they had met – perhaps because she had never before met a man quite like him. Her brothers and even Renly to an extent always seemed to view war as a game, and as their side had a strong advantage it was a game they were more than happy to play. It took her aback to meet a man so serious despite his age and who fought for the memory of the family he had lost.

Margaery might not have been able to recall precisely when she had begun wondering what Robb's arms would feel like around her, or how his lips might feel against hers, but all of her memories of him were alive and strong. She remembered watching him from the entrance to her tent in Renly's camp, noticing how comfortable he seemed among his men as he shook one's hand, answered a question coming from another. She remembered the first time she'd made her way over to speak to him, and how after that he would often come talk to her of his own free will late at night. She remembered being ashamed of the hint of happiness she felt when they had received news of House Frey's betrayal, because she knew it meant Robb was no longer obliged to marry one of Lord Walder's daughters. She remembered all too well the young woman from Volantis who tended to men on the battlefield, the one she had seen Robb speaking to a few times. She had expected it to somehow change things between her and Robb back then, but he was just the same as he had always been with her. The war ended, the Volantine woman left to go wherever it was that they needed her, and Robb had stayed.

It had puzzled Margaery for a long time why Robb _had_ actually stayed. She knew he disliked the capital as much as he disliked the rest of the small council, and that not a day went by where he didn't resent the people around him and the fact that they could play the game better than he could. Margaery had come across him more than once after a meeting in the small council chamber and found him closed off, frustrated over the fact that there was nobody he could trust. He seemed to trust her, though, and she disliked seeing him upset so much that she had learned very quickly how to soothe him and bring a smile to his face. She often asked him to tell her about his home, about his siblings and his mother whom he frequently wrote to. His eyes would shine when he spoke of the North, of the castle of Winterfell and the Wolfswood, and his words made her feel almost as if she was actually there.

"You seem to miss it so much, my lord," Margaery had remarked to him once. They had been talking earlier in the corridors of the Red Keep, but Robb had invited her up to his private audience chamber in the Tower of Hand so they could continue their conversation. "Sometimes I think it sounds as if you'd be happier there, but I would be sad to see you go."

"I think I would be decidedly more miserable there, Your Grace," Robb had answered, giving her a small smile with a hint of sadness. Margaery had only felt confused then, and suddenly had become very aware of how close they were sitting to each other.

"Perhaps not if you took a lady wife back with you to keep you company," Margaery had suggested, only have Robb immediately shake his head at her, "Come, there must be at least one lady here who has interested you. It's not as if you don't have plenty of choice." That had made him blush a little, and Margaery had insisted she spoke only the truth. Robb was the heir to Winterfell and the Hand of the King besides being young and handsome, and she knew for a fact there were already a great many fathers eager make a match between him and one of their daughters.

"You think I'm handsome?" Robb had questioned, taking Margaery by surprise. She hadn't expected to feel her face flush and to be overcome with nerves all of a sudden.

"It can't be the first time you've heard that," Margaery had remarked quietly.

"It's the first time I've heard it from you," Robb had said, and that was all he seemed to be concerned about. His gaze on her was intense and Margaery found herself having to look away from him. "I miss Winterfell all the time, Your Grace," Robb admitted gently, "But as painful as it is to stay, I believe it would be far more painful if I were to leave."

"You talk of so much pain, my lord," Margaery had said softly, reaching for Robb's hands, "Why do you suffer so?"

"Don't you know?" Robb had asked her in a voice that had made her heart break. "Gods, please, tell me I have been imagining all this," he had begged her quietly, "Convince me that the thoughts going through my head for the past year have been pure folly. It would make everything so much easier."

She had silenced him by taking his face in her hands and pressing a kiss to his lips. Margaery remembered being surprised that he did not pull away immediately as Renly often had, and even more surprised by the intensity with which he'd kissed her in return. She recalled all too well the feeling of his tongue sliding over hers, and how her body seemed to become sensitive to every touch, including that of his hand as it came to rest on her waist. It was the kind of kiss she'd never expected to experience.

When her husband the king had summoned both her and Robb to his own private audience chambers the next day, a part of her had been terrified that he'd found out. She could not bring herself to regret the kiss, but she hated herself for not being more careful. She had always told herself she would faithful to her husband no matter what the cost, well aware of the fate that had befallen the previous queen who was not, and when she looked back on it she thought it seemed truly ridiculous to put herself at risk for a single kiss. Her mind had already been furiously at work trying to come up with some kind of explanation, but the words that had come out of Renly's mouth ended up leaving her speechless.

"You love each other," King Renly had said, and it hadn't been a question, "Don't even try to deny it." Margaery's eyes had widened but she'd said nothing, looking down at the floor to avoid looking at Robb. Neither of them had ever admitted as much to each other, and she had never allowed herself to even contemplate having such feelings.

"Your Grace, I don't know what you've heard…" Robb had started to say, but Renly interrupted him.

"I have eyes, Lord Robb. All of the Red Keep has seen you constantly in each other's company, going out for rides together, having private meetings in each other's chambers," Renly pointed out, "And I have seen the way you look at her when you dance together at royal feasts."

Robb had made to speak again, but the king had raised a hand to silence him. "I did not call you here to condemn you, Lord Robb," he affirmed, "Quite the contrary… I called you here to give you permission."

Renly's words were what echoed in Margaery's head now as Robb stood before her in her chambers, and they were what made her heart beat faster than usual in her chest. She was used to more often than not feeling very sure of herself, but in the past few days everything seemed to have been turned on its head. She suddenly felt ridiculous sitting on the bed in her shift that was too big for her, wondering if the man standing in her doorway was really there for the purpose she hoped she was. Margaery watched in silence as he made his way over to her, moving to sit gently on the bed.

"Why are you here, Lord Robb?" Margaery asked him, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I…I needed to speak to you. Is it true what King Renly said yesterday?" Robb asked, "That he has never been able to love you? That his affections lie with another?"

"Yes," Margaery answered softly. She would never reveal her king's and her brother's secrets, but she did not see the harm in confirming what Renly had already told Robb. "In fact, _he_ lies with another," she added after a pause, "He has not visited my bed for a long time."

Robb's brow furrowed in what seemed to Margaery like genuine confusion. "I'm sorry to just barge in on you like this," he said, "I wasn't sure if I should come, I just…I have been thinking about the king's words since yesterday. I couldn't sleep last night."

"I'm the one who should be sorry," Margaery said quickly, "We can…we can forget it ever happened. I can talk to Renly and convince him never to speak of it again. Whatever you wish, my lord."

"I wish…I wish you would call me Robb," came the answer, "And I wish to know only what it is that you want."

His words lingered in the air for a moment and silence fell over the room as Margaery had to talk herself in her head into saying what she said next. She was raised to rule, and she knew that to rule happiness often had to be sacrificed. She never expected or believed it was possible to have everything she wanted. "I want you, Robb," she breathed.

This time, her wolf came to her. Strong arms wrapped around her body and she closed her eyes as their lips met in a kiss that was different to their previous one, far more fervent and wanting. Margaery took Robb's lower lip between her teeth as they barely broke apart only to kiss each other again, her hips pressing against his. Robb just about managed to pull away long enough to relieve her of ugly shift, his hand sliding down her leg before he lifted it up her body and tossed it to one side. When she was sat before him on the bed naked as her nameday, his reaction made any doubts she could have possibly had vanish from her mind. He looked over her with wide eyes and a boyish eagerness that she'd never witnessed before. It made a flush creep up her neck, particularly when she noticed the bulge in his breeches.

"Touch me, Robb," a voice Margaery recognised as her own said, though she didn't remember at any point actively making the decision to say what she'd been thinking. He didn't hesitate to obey, his fingers running over her skin to her breasts, watching as her nipples hardened underneath his thumbs. She could practically see the hunger in his eyes just before he lowered his head and took her right nipple in his mouth, making her moan and her back arch as he slowly began to suck and tease her. She could feel herself growing wet between her legs when his tongue ran along her other breast, lavishing it equally.

"I'm yours," she whispered to him, silently praying for him not to stop. She was doing nothing wrong, she told herself whenever doubt crept into her mind for a moment. The king had given his permission. "Only yours and nobody else's. I ache for you," she confessed, "Claim what is yours."

Her words seemed to have their exact desired effect as Robb moaned slightly against her skin and pulled away only to let Margaery help rid him on his own clothing. It fell into a pile alongside the bed and Margaery's hands could finally roam over the muscles of his arms and his chest, sliding down to his stomach as she wondered if desire was coiled there just as it was in hers. She kissed his lips once more before she lay back on the bed, her hair fanning out on the blankets below her.

He leant forwards and she spread her legs for him, welcoming him between them. He was hard against her thigh – hard for _her_, she realised, full of desire for _her_. When he entered her slowly, she let out an involuntary moan, followed by a breathy "Oh, gods, _Robb_." She had made the decision barely a few moments ago to encourage him as much as possible, not wanting him to change his mind, but she found she had hardly any control over the words that left her mouth. "You feel so good, my wolf," she breathed.

"You feel incredible, Margaery," Robb murmured back, taking her by surprise. She hadn't expected him to speak, hadn't expected him to admit enjoying an act that in anyone's eyes would be treason. The deed was done and there was no turning back, although in truth their betrayal had begun long ago. Her heart had been Robb's long before she gave her flesh to him, and she was certain she would give him almost anything if he asked. If anyone else ever found out they would be traitors to the crown in their eyes, but Margaery found she felt no guilt. Robb kissed her, his lips lingering against hers as he began to move in her, and she could think of only him and the sensations he caused in her.

She had never asked him outright if he had ever been with a woman before, but from everything she knew about him she highly suspected he hadn't. Then again, she supposed, she had never been with a man either aside from her one experience with Renly. For all Robb lacked in experience, he made up for it in willingness to learn. He obeyed when she told him to move up her body slightly, was willing to comply when she took his hand and guided it between the two of them to where she'd given herself pleasure many times. His touch was gentle and he made her moan louder, her head thrown back against her bed. Her hips canted upwards with every thrust and before long she began to feel ripples of pleasure run through her body, growing ever more intense until she found herself screaming his name. Barely a few moments later, she heard him give a groan and she felt him empty into her, filling her with his seed. His blue eyes met hers as they both caught their breath and exchanged satisfied, content smiles, as if for a moment she was no longer the queen and he was no longer the Hand of the King.

"I love you, Robb," Margaery whispered into the darkness, uncertain if he was still awake as they lay curled up together in bed, long after their candles had been blown out. They had briefly discussed him leaving, but had agreed that it would only look more suspicious if someone caught him sneaking out of the queen's chambers in the dead of night. Besides, it felt so right to have him there next to her, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took.

"I love you, Margaery," she heard him whisper back, and she knew then that she was most definitely already in over her head.


End file.
